


Future-Proof

by SavageSeraphim



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Future anxiety, M/M, Mentions of Death, Michael-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageSeraphim/pseuds/SavageSeraphim
Summary: Michael muses about the future, when (if) the Fakes leave their empire behind.





	Future-Proof

“Hey Gav?”  
“Yeah Michael?”  
“What’s gonna happen to all this once we’re done with it?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean...y’know. When we’re old and shit. We run this bitch. But Geoff an’ Jack’ll retire eventually, and I guess I’ll get too old to lug a minigun around.” 

As if they were ever going to grow old, as if Michael didn’t know full well that the only way he was leaving this world was when the air around him lit on fire and filled with shrapnel a moment too soon, that the only way Gavin was going to get out was when the honeyed webs he wove around their enemies turned into a golden noose around his neck. The two of them were flames that burned bright and hot and, realistically, not for very long. Between the high adrenaline lifestyle and having each other, they’ve both long blown past the caution signs. 

Gavin’s laughter is only proof of that, careless and rolling his eyes as he plants kisses across Michael’s freckled cheeks.  
“You’re being silly, michael.”  
“Yeah yeah. I’m just asking though. We gonna burn it down on the way out or you’ll think we’ll pass on what we’ve got?”

Because Michael’s background in their business comes from family, it’s something he’s heard a thousand times before he ever set foot on Los Santos’ shore. You build an empire not just for yourself, but for your blood. You honor the shit you were given by family that fought and killed for it and you build it up bigger and meaner and give it to the next firestarter kid with the right gleam of ambition and you live out your remaining days watching it grow. That’s the deal, anyway.

And sure, Michael left that shit behind a long time ago, but there’s still that thought in his head. They’ve fought damn hard for what they’ve got, the power the Fakes have accumulated is a vicious thing and he’s got no intention of taking his teeth out of it anytime soon.

But.

But, if by some stroke of fate they do make it to be old enough to give it up, what then?

“I don’t think we’ll end up choosing how it goes. ‘Least not ahead of time.” And that’s, well, that’s one of the more balanced responses Michael’s gotten from Gavin lately, that thoughtful gleam to his eyes that Michael loves almost as much as the impulsive one. 

One’s a fuse and one’s a match in gasoline - Same end result, but the two of them have a habit of taking the quickest route towards the flames. Michael can’t tell for sure if it’s wearing on him or not. It certainly doesn’t feel like it, not in a gunfight, not as the explosion goes off, not when he sees flames reflected in excited green eyes or, more often now, the lenses of golden sunglasses. 

But lately, when the dust settles, Michael’s been thinking too much, too far ahead, as if that’s anything he needs to worry about. He banishes the thought with laughter, taking a note from Gavin’s book, and shakes his head.

“Yeah. You’re right. C’mon, we’ve kept these guys waiting long enough.” Michael steps out of the car with Gavin - No, with the Golden Boy slinking to his side, all saccharine in his smile as they walk into the maw of another deal. 

Another exchange of ‘pleasantries’, a baring of teeth masked in courteous smiles. Concealed weapons flashing at veiled insults, clever tones putting them at ease. ‘Negotiating’ as if the terms hadn’t already been set by their Boss, waiting patiently back home for the news that they got all they wanted.

The Fakes win this one. 

The raucous laughter at the retelling of their ordeal to the rest of the Crew keeps Michael from dwelling on his thoughts that afternoon. Gavin’s touch soothes him to sleep that night. 

It isn’t until the dawn of morning breaks and Gavin is still asleep, feeble daylight illuminating his skin, that Michael is left to his thoughts again.

What if they make it? 

What if they actually get to live and be old and retire and fucking, get a house in the suburbs or the country or whatever the else people who don’t expect to die in a fiery explosion before thirty do?

Dying’s never scared Michael, but not knowing what to do with himself if he doesn’t - There’s a brief spike of adrenaline in his heart, enough to let him know that he’s hit a nerve somewhere deep. 

They don’t talk about it much, him and Gavin. Ray doesn’t. Ryan doesn’t. Jack and Geoff, they mention on occasion - Moreso Geoff, really. He likes to talk about retiring in a way that’s almost a joke, but there’s a real plan there. Jack, Michael thinks, could keep doing this job until it killed her. She loves it that much. But she talked about retiring too, about a place without sirens chasing them and opponents breathing down their necks. 

And the thing is, Michael can picture that for himself. Not now, fuck no, he’s still got more he wants to do, a host of people to prove wrong and a place at the top with his Crew and Michael is not a quitter, alright, it’s not like that, but he wants an end-game goal. 

 

Only problem is, a goal like that, a future, it’s just something else to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> Just something of a drabble I've been thinking of while trying to write a bigger thing.


End file.
